It All Started with the Drunken Watchmen
by Sarah1281
Summary: A Hamlet parody where Horatio tries to convince Hamlet that a tree is not the ghost of his father, Claudius thinks Laertes is his nephew and keeps accidentally confessing, and no one remembers who Polonius is.
1. Act 1

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.

On a cold dark night outside Denmark's Elsinore Castle, the noble watchman Francisco stood alert at his post.

"Bored, bored, bored…" he muttered. "Why did I volunteer for night guard duty again? It's so dark that the only way I'd be able to see anyone approaching is if they were close enough to-"

"Kill?" whispered a voice from behind him.

Taken by surprise, Francisco bravely screamed and fainted.

The second man shook his head in disgust and kicked his fallen comrade. "Oh, get up. It's just me."

Obligingly, Francisco jumped up as if nothing happened, beaming. "Ah, Bernardo! Are you here to replace me?"

Bernardo slowly nodded. "Are you drunk?"

Francisco looked offended. "No, of course not!" he insisted as he promptly fell over. "Well…maybe just a little."

"Drinking on the job?" The sober of the pair shook his head ruefully. "In King Hamlet's day, this never would have happened. What do you think King Claudius would have to say about this?"

Francisco shrugged. "Dunno. I got it from him, though, so probably nothing much. 'Save some for me', perhaps?"

"You got this from the _King_?" Bernardo asked incredulously.

"It's cold out!" Francisco said defensively. "Want some?"

Bernardo considered for a moment. "Ah, what the hell. The King says it's okay, it's okay." He took a long swig. "It's after midnight; you should probably head to bed."

Francisco nodded agreeably. "Just as soon as the world stops spinning."

Bernardo started suddenly. "What's that?"

"Why is all the rum gone?" Marcellus – another watchman – complained, stumbling drunkenly onto the scene.

"You drank it all," Horatio, widely renowned as the only one who could make Prince Hamlet stop moping, explained patiently.

"Oh yeah," Marcellus said sheepishly. He turned and spotted his fellow watchmen. "Ah! A ghost!"

"Where?" Bernardo demanded, looking around wildly.

"You're a ghost!" clarified Marcellus helpfully.

"Ah! Why didn't you tell me?!?! I thought we were friends!" Francisco sounded hurt.

"We're not friends; I barely know you!" Bernardo pointed out.

"You still might have told me," Francisco sniffed.

Bernardo sighed, aggravated. "I'm not a ghost!"

"You're not?" Marcellus asked, surprised.

"Nope."

"Of course he's not! Next thing you know, you'll be saying that's a ghost," Horatio said, rolling his eyes and pointing to tree in the distance.

The three watchmen exchanged looks. "Ah! A ghost!"

"Oh, for the love of-! That's it, you've all had _quite_ enough," Horatio said primly, taking their flasks.

"Awww…Since you took my flask, can you at least tell Prince Hamlet?" Bernardo asked hopefully.

"Tell him what; that his guards are a bunch of drunkards?" Horatio suggested sarcastically.

"No, no," Bernardo said dismissively. "Tell him about the ghost."

"WHAT ghost?" Horatio asked, exasperated.

"The ghost of King Hamlet," replied Francisco.

Horatio closed his eyes and counted to ten very slowly. "…Did he **tell** you he's the old king?"

Marcellus shook his head. "He won't talk to us; we're not important enough. I'm sure he'll talk to his son, however."

"Don't argue with drunks, don't argue with drunks…" Horatio muttered, his eyes still closed.

Bernardo pulled a puppy dog face. "So will you tell him? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

Horatio sighed. "Fine, whatever."

- -

King Claudius had been King for some time now, but had refrained from addressing the court on the somewhat scandalous series of events before then.

"I would like to take this time to say that even though I'm thrilled to be king and finally married to the woman I've loved for over half my life, I do deeply mourn my brother," Claudius began. He paused for a moment and then went on much more honestly. "Particularly as Norway has decided to attack us only two months after I ascended to the throne. I'm fairly certain that the half-senile King of Norway knows nothing of this, so I'll send someone to inform him, so they'll call the troops back."

The designated messenger to Norway spoke up. "It's not that your brother chose an inconvenient time to die; Norway just thinks you'll be too busy going mad from guilt to put up much of a fight."

"Guilt? Why would I be guilty?" Claudius asked sharply.

The messenger pointedly eyed first the King's wedding ring and then Gertrude, coughing delicately. "Did I say guilt? I meant 'grief.'"

"Good. I'd hate for anyone to think I've done anything wrong…" Claudius said threateningly.

"I'll…just be going then, shall I? This message won't deliver itself!" The messenger quickly hurried out of the Castle.

"Now that that's settled...Did you want anything, Prince Laertes?" Claudius asked, turning to the boy he believed was his nephew.

"I'm not a prince, your majesty," Laertes corrected. "I'm the son of Polonius."

Claudius looked blank.

"Your advisor?" Laertes tried again. Still, no luck. Laertes sighed and soldiered on, "Now that the mourning period is so very clearly over, I would like to go back to France to further my studies."

"Why, nothing would give my greater pleasure than to see you happy, my dear nephew!" Polonius said jovially.

In the interest of getting what he wanted, Laertes decided to let it go for once. "So, that's a yes?"

"Of course it is, my boy. You must be worldly if you intend to inherit the throne after I'm gone," Claudius said sagely.

"…Right. Thanks again," Laertes said, leaving before anyone brought up the fact that he wasn't actually related to Claudius.

"And what about you? Who are you and why are you moping about?" Claudius asked, turning his attention to his actual nephew.

"I'm Hamlet," Hamlet replied flatly.

Claudius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hamlet? I thought I kill- er, I thought he died."

"He did," Hamlet said gloomily. "I'm his son. Your nephew."

"I didn't know Laertes had a brother," Claudius said, surprised.

"He doesn't," Hamlet confirmed. "He has a sister, though."

Claudius's eyebrows rose. "You're a girl?"

"NO!"

"But you just said-" Claudius began.

"You know what? Never mind. Just know that I'm your nephew," Hamlet interjected.

"Is that true?" Claudius asked, turning to his new wife.

Queen Gertrude nodded. "Yes, Hamlet is my son. Laertes, on the other hand-"

"Fine boy, I know. A regular chip off the old block. Laertes is going off to France though, and doesn't appear to have any severe issues. Your other son, though…" Claudius shuddered. "He's a mess! Would you believe that he's STILL upset that the old King died?"

"The old King was my father!" Hamlet shouted. "And he only died two months ago."

"So? Everyone else is over it," Claudius pointed out.

"You served the leftovers from my father's funeral at your wedding!" Hamlet continued, outraged.

"We didn't want to be wasteful," Gertrude explained.

Hamlet just stared at her. "What is wrong with you people?"

"Now, now, Hamlet, I know it's quite normal to blame other people for your problems, but please stop upsetting your Aunt," Claudius said.

"She's my mother!" Hamlet said through gritted teeth.

"All the more reason to stop upsetting her," Claudius said blithely. "Everyone dies. It's a fact of life. Get over it already because your depression is getting seriously depressing."

"I'm sorry that my deep and abiding grief and natural outrage to almost everything you've done since my father's death is annoying you," Hamlet said sarcastically.

"I forgive you," Claudius said magnanimously.

"Can I go now?" Hamlet asked.

"Go where?" Claudius asked, confused.

"Wittenberg. I was studying there before I heard the news," Hamlet reminded his uncle.

"See, there you go dwelling on that again," Claudius chided. "And of course you can't."

"Than-wait, what do you mean no? Why not?" Hamlet demanded.

"Your brother is going off to France and I'd like at least one of my heirs here in Denmark while we all adjust to me being King. Besides, it will add a certain…legitimacy to my rule," Claudius explained.

Hamlet looked mutinous. "Laertes is NOT my brother!"

"Hamlet! I'm surprised at you! I know you're upset right now, but family is important, so that's no reason to go around disowning your relatives!" Claudius sounded shocked.

"Trust me, if I were disowning relatives you'd be the first to go…" Hamlet murmured. "And why is it okay for Laertes to leave and not me? That sounds an awful lot like favoritism."

"It's not favoritism; he just asked me first. If you had asked first, then you would be off in Williamsburg or wherever and Laertes would be here, not moping." Claudius paused, looking thoughtful. "I wonder if it isn't too late to change my mind…"

"I asked you if I could go back the minute your coronation was over!" Hamlet protested.

"Did you really?" Claudius asked. "Well, sorry about that, but I already promised your brother and a man's word is his bond, you know."

"Will you please stay, son? I missed you while you were gone," Gertrude entreated softly.

"Since I've not been given any choice in the matter, I guess I will," Hamlet agreed reluctantly.

"Excellent! This calls for a celebration! Bring in the fireworks and alcohol!" Claudius called as he and his procession left the room to inform people of the imminent festivities.

"I love you," Gertrude assured her distraught son as she hurried after her new husband.

"Let's recap, shall we?" Hamlet thought aloud once he was alone. "My dad's dead, my mother married my uncle in an incestuous marriage from hell so soon after my father's death that the mourners barely had time to change their clothes before they were the wedding guests, my Uncle thinks Laertes is my brother and he's the favorite! Ah well, at least I still have my girlfriend…"

The girlfriend in questions, Ophelia, chose then to walk into the room. "Hey, Hamlet? Listen, I really like you and all, but the King's insistence that my brother is your brother is starting to convince people and since the last thing we need around here is another incest scandal, I'm breaking up with you. Sorry." With that, Ophelia went to go look for her brother.

"Damn, my life sucks," Hamlet lamented. "I wish I had never been born!" He waited patiently but nothing happened. "And now I can't even wish myself out of existence properly! The only other option is suicide, but I think Hell is probably worse than dealing with Claudius. For now."

"Listen Hamlet," Horatio says as he enters the room of random comings-and-goings, followed closely by the clearly hung-over Marcellus and Bernardo. "I'm sorry to bother you, I really am – and I'm sorry about Ophelia, by the way – but these two have been pestering me all day to talk to you."

"Horatio!" Hamlet brightened upon seeing his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I've actually been here for two months," Horatio explained. "But your Uncle seemed to think I was Laertes' friend and made me spend time with him. I came for the funeral."

"You mean the wedding?" groused Hamlet.

"I went to both," Horatio said neutrally.

"So what did these…watchmen want?" Hamlet asked disinterestedly.

"They were drunk on duty last night and mistook a tree for your father's ghost so they want you to stand watch with them tonight in case they get drunk and mistake the tree for your father's ghost again," Horatio summed the situation up.

Hamlet shrugged apathetically. "Ah, what the hell."

"And can you bring a flask?" Marcellus asked eagerly. "Horatio took mine."

"I can take some from my uncle's party," Hamlet agreed.

"Best. Prince. Ever," Bernardo breathed, awed.

"This whole place is full of madmen and drunkards…" Horatio realized, horrified.

- -

"Do you need any help packing?" Ophelia asked, entering her brother's room.

Laertes laughed. "Are you kidding? I've been packed since I got here!"

"You mean you never unpacked," Ophelia deduced.

"These people are CRAZY, Ophelia. CRAZY. You stay here too long, you'll go crazy, too," Laertes warned. "Come with me!"

"I would if I could, Laertes," Ophelia told him. "But someone needs to stay here to remind the King who father is."

"I suppose you have a point," Laertes sighed. "Fine, stay here. But whatever you do, don't have sex with Hamlet! His mother will or uncle will probably arrange a marriage with some foreign princess and leave you high and dry."

"Oh, no need to worry about that," Ophelia assured him. "Seeing as how I broke up with him about ten minutes ago."

"Really?" Laertes asked, thrilled. At Ophelia's nod, he continued, "That's great, it really is. May I ask why? Last time we talked about this you told me to mind my own damn business. What changed?"

"Well…things just got really awkward, what with the rampant rumors about you and Hamlet being brothers and all," Ophelia admitted.

"I guess that does come in handy, after all…" Laertes mused.

"Laertes! Stop enjoying my pain," Ophelia ordered, smacking him.

"Sorry," he said dutifully.

"And if I'm not getting laid, you better not either," Ophelia said sternly. "Because again: we do not need any more scandals. We're all scandaled out. So _behave_."

"Fine, fine…" Laertes agreed reluctantly.

"Son," Polonius greeted as he walked into the room. "Your ship's leaving in about fifteen minutes, so hurry up."

"Don't you have any last minute advice to give me before leaving me completely to my own devices in a foreign country?" Laertes asked, surprised.

Polonius frowned."Well…I don't have anything prepared so…don't borrow or lend money, don't get anyone pregnant, don't give your honest opinion, no swearing, and above all: before you do ANYTHING, think to yourself 'is it worth it to have a conversation about this with not only my father but also my king whose convince he's my uncle?'"

Laertes paled at the thought. "It probably won't ever be…" he muttered. "Gotta go. Bye Dad, love you Sis."

"So what were you and your brother talking about before I came in here?" Polonius asked as they watched him leave.

"He told me not to sleep with Hamlet," Ophelia told him.

"That's good advice," Polonius agreed. "Don't do it."

"Wasn't planning on it," Ophelia assured him.

- -

"Why are we out here, Hamlet?" Horatio asked, shivering. "It's cold and nothing's going to happen."

"I want to see my father," Hamlet explained, yet again.

"Your father is _dead_," Horatio reminded him.

"Which is why I'm waiting for his ghost," Hamlet pointed out.

"It's after just past midnight," Marcellus interjects. "The ghost should be along shortly."

"You know, everyone else is sleeping," Horatio muttered, pulling his jacket tighter to him.

"No, **everyone else** is partying," Hamlet corrects, disgusted. "It's almost just as well that I'm stuck here; my Uncle's incessant drunken carousing is quite frankly embarrassing and I'm glad I don't have to try and explain it away at Wittenberg."

"Hey, look, there he is!" Marcellus cried out, taking another sip from his flask.

"Where?" Hamlet asked, his eyes darting from tree to tree.

"Right there," Marcellus gestured to the same tree he'd mistaken for a ghost the night before.

"I see it," Hamlet breathed, stunned.

"See what?" Horatio demanded. "The tree? I see it too. Can we _please_ go inside now?"

"My father…" Hamlet whispered. He broke into a run.

"Your father wasn't a tree, Hamlet!" Horatio called after him, but to no avail.

Hamlet stopped at the tree and began talking animatedly with it.

"Is he even drunk?" Horatio asked his companion.

Marcellus shrugged. "I don't see what difference that makes."

After a few moments, Hamlet rejoined him, his face flushed. "My father…my father said that he was murdered by my Uncle!" he declared dramatically.

Horatio snorted. "I could have told you that."

Hamlet turned to him, suspicious. "What do you know about this?"

"The King practically confesses every time he mentions your father," Horatio explained. "Surely you've noticed?"

Ignoring him, Hamlet went on, "My father wants me to take revenge on my Uncle but to leave my mother be as she has been corrupted by that foul incestuous beast!"

"You know, it does take two people to have a marriage," Horatio pointed out. "And I highly doubt that your Uncle could have forced your mother to marry him seeing as how she was the Queen and their union is widely regarded as incest."

"Of course he forced her," Hamlet said impatiently. "He's EVIL. Now, I want you both to swear to secrecy not to tell anyone what you've seen-"

"No worries there," Horatio muttered.

"And that I plan to act like a madman soon, so do not let anyone know that you know why," Hamlet concluded.

"I swear," Marcellus said solemnly.

"You want me not to tell anyone that a tree you confused for your father told you that the King very obviously murdered your father and you're going to 'pretend' to be crazy?" Horatio repeated. "Well, I doubt they'd believe me anyway, so why not?"

"_God_, my life sucks," Hamlet complained as they went inside.

Review Please!


	2. Act 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.

"Reynaldo!" Polonius greeted his servant warmly. "Do come in. Do you know why I've sent for you?"

"You want me to go to France and spy on the King's son for you?" Reynaldo guessed.

Polonius glowered at him.

"Er, _your_ son?" Reynaldo quickly amended.

"Indeed," Polonius sighed. "I have faith in the boy – don't get me wrong, I do – but he's a young man out on his own, unsupervised and he seemed just a bit **too** eager to leave Denmark. It's probably nothing, but if he's gotten himself into trouble, I'd like to deal with it now instead of waiting for women to start mailing me grandchildren."

"What would you have me do, sir?" Reynaldo asked.

Polonius waved his arm vaguely. "Oh you know, start spreading rumors and lies about him and see if anyone believes him, follow him around everywhere, ask everyone he knows a lot of suspicious questions…that kind of thing. I want to know what his reputation is like."

"Wouldn't doing all of that make his reputation automatically, well, awful?" Reynaldo asked, confused.

That gave Polonius pause. "Only if he's already given people a reason to doubt him," he decided.

"Whatever you say, sir," Reynaldo said dubiously before he bowed and opened the door to take his leave.

"Father!" Ophelia called urgently, pushing past her father's servant.

"Ophelia, dear, is everything alright?" Polonius asked, turning to look at his distraught daughter.

"No, it's not." Ophelia took a deep breath. "I don't think Hamlet's taking the breakup very well. I was sitting in my room when he barged in, grabbed my arm, stared at me for a while, then sighed and left. It was very disturbing."

"I see. Hamlet has been acting rather oddly lately, even by his standards. I know! He must be mad for love of you!" Polonius exclaimed.

"Well, he's certainly mad. I saw him talking to a tree yesterday," Ophelia confided. "When I asked Hamlet about it, he pretended he couldn't hear me and when I asked Horatio, he just groaned and said he needed a drink and went off to find a watchman, for whatever reason."

"I know it must be difficult, watching your ex-boyfriend slowly descend into madness-" Polonius began.

"More like plunging headfirst," Ophelia muttered.

"But you have to remember that no good would come of your union and no matter what anyone tells you, the fact he went insane when you dumped him is _not your fault_," Polonius assured her.

"I know, but are we really sure that it's my dumping him that did it?" Ophelia asked.

Polonius blinked quizzically at her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"That may have been the final nail in the coffin, but he's been pretty…upset for awhile now, don't you think?" Ophelia prompted.

"About what?" Polonius asked innocently.

"He's convinced that his mother's going to hell because his uncle tricked her into an incest marriage, he doesn't want to be here, and he seems to want everyone to spend the rest of their lives mourning his father," Ophelia explained.

"Don't be silly, Ophelia. Of course he's not upset about any of that, it's obviously because of his love for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go inform the King," Polonius said, hurrying out of the room.

"Oh God, now _I_ need a drink," Ophelia moaned. "Where did Horatio say those watchmen were?"

- -

Claudius stared blankly at the two young men standing before him. They had gone to school with his moody nephew, but Winterbug was a big place, so who knew if they even knew each other. And which one was which, anyway?

"Greetings Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," he attempted. His wife frowned at him out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, he'd guessed wrong. "Or is it Guildenstern and Rosencrantz?"

The taller one shrugged. "It really doesn't matter."

"You're late, Guildenstern" Gertrude said sternly, having decided which was which. He may as well follow her lead.

"Sorry about that," Guildenstern replied. "We meant to be on time but we got lost-"

"Did we ever!" Rosencrantz cut in. "We were tossing this coin and it kept coming up heads and then we met this group of minstrels and I think they wanted to have sex with us and then there was this bird and-"

"I don't think they really need to hear about all of that," Guildenstern said hastily. "Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to inform us why you summoned us here?"

"Didn't my messenger tell you?" Claudius asked, slightly put out at having to explain.

"He may very well have," Rosencrantz acknowledged. "But we don't remember."

"Very well," Claudius said, taking a deep breath. "Hamlet has been acting…strangely for some time."

"Approximately two months," Gertrude elaborated. "Ever since his father died."

"We have absolutely no idea why," Claudius continued. "I mean, so what if I killed his father? The boy really needs to get over it."

"Did you just say you killed his father?" Rosencrantz asked, looking alarmed.

"Of course not!" Claudius denied. "I would never admit to murdering my pompous older brother, especially not in front of stranger's and my wife's first husband."

"But I could have sworn-"

"If he said he didn't, then he didn't," Guildenstern interrupted. "Unless you think you know more than a King."

"No, not at all!" Rosencrantz insisted.

"So as I said, Hamlet keeps moping about and bursting into soliloquies. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, of course, but the whole point of soliloquies are that they are supposed to be done in private and he just spouts them off whenever the urge strikes him," Claudius shook his head. "It's just not right."

"I swear to you, Madame," Guildenstern said solemnly. "We will find out what is wrong with your son."

"Even if it's the last thing Prince Hamlet does," Rosencrantz agreed.

"Don't you mean if it's the last thing **you** do?" Gertrude asked.

"Well it wouldn't do us much good if we died, now would it?" Rosencrantz asked rhetorically. "Yes, we'll do it or he'll die trying."

"I…see," Gertrude said slowly. "I will have someone take you to him."

After they had left, Gertrude turned to her husband. "Are you sure that they're the best people for the job?"

Claudius shrugged apathetically. "Who knows? They are, however, the only people for the job in Denmark so I guess we'll have to make do."

"But what about Horatio?" Gertrude suggested. "Couldn't we ask him?"

"What would Laertes' best friend know about Hamlet's mental health?" Claudius asked. "Besides, I don't want the rivalry between my two nephews to get any worse than it already is."

Before Gertrude could remind Claudius – yet again – that Laertes was not her son, Polonius came in.

"Your ambassadors have returned from Norway, sir," Polonius announced. "Apparently you were right; the Norwegian King had no idea his army was missing and once he asked Fortinbras about it, the boy apologized and swore on the King's life that he would never attack us."

"So we're safe for a good…three months, do you think?" Claudius mused. "How long could that ailing old man possibly have, anyway?"

"It might be longer than that, sir," Polonius informed him. "The King bribed Fortinbras to go attack Poland and they have asked for safe passage through Denmark to get there."

"Ah, what the hell," Claudius shrugged. "You may go back to Norway now."

"Norway, sir?" Polonius asked confused.

"Yes, you are free to continue your duties as ambassador."

"I'm not an ambassador, your majesty," Polonius corrected.

"You're not?" Claudius looked puzzled. "Then who the hell are you?"

"Polonius, sir," Polonius waited for some sign of recognition. When he didn't get it, he continued. "Your advisor?"

"I thought Ophelia was my advisor," Claudius said, scratching his head. "What ever happened to her? I liked her, she was pretty."

"My daughter is still around," Polonius assured him. "But I am your advisor."

"Do I have to pay you?" Claudius demanded.

"You already do," Polonius reminded him.

"Well, okay, I guess. So. Advise me," Claudius ordered.

"I know what is wrong with your nephew," Polonius announced grandly.

"Go on," Gertrude said as it became clear the King wasn't invested enough to prompt him.

"Hamlet's crazy because he's in love with Ophelia and she dumped him," Polonius explained.

"Oh, when did this happen?" Gertrude asked, upset. She'd always liked Ophelia.

"Yesterday," Polonius replied.

"That won't work, then; Hamlet's been crazy for two months," Claudius remarked.

Polonius pulled a stack of paper out of his pocket. "But I have love letters! Hamlet wrote them to let Ophelia know how very much in love he was with her."

"I'll buy that," Claudius conceded. "Seeing as how they were dating and all, but that doesn't necessarily mean that's why he's crazy."

"I suppose we could test it," Polonius said, looking a bit annoyed at being doubted. "Hamlet has taken up patrolling the inside of the castle so we could hide and watch Ophelia confront Hamlet so we can see how he reacts."

"Why not?" Claudius said. "I've got nothing better to do."

"What about preparing for war? Fortinbras will surely attack the minute his bedridden uncle dies," Gertrude pointed out.

"Nothing better at all to do…in fact, maybe I'll put on a play. Didn't Rosen-whoever and Guild-what's-his-face say something about minstrels?" Claudius continued blithely.

"Oh look, there's Hamlet. I'm going to go talk to him to get a good feel of just how crazy being dumped by my daughter has made him," Polonius informed the monarchs before he ran to catch up with the questionably sane Prince.

"Prince Hamlet!" Polonius called out.

Hamlet stopped and looked at Polonius confused. "What do you need, oh honorable fishmonger?"

"I'm not a fishmonger," Polonius snapped. "Honestly, I've served your father as advisor since before you were even born. How does no one know who I am?"

"My father?" Hamlet latched onto the only part of Polonius' reply that interested him. "He's dead, you know."

"Yes, I had heard a rumor to that effect," Polonius said dryly.

"Do you think my Uncle killed him?" Hamlet asked idly.

"Yes, definitely," Polonius replied promptly. "He was talking about it earlier."

"No? Well no matter. Hey, do you see that cloud?" Hamlet asked.

"Cloud? Prince Hamlet, we're inside," Polonius pointed out.

"And you're old, but you don't see me saying anything about it," Hamlet shot back angrily.

Polonius counted to ten under his breath before responding. "…Yes, Prince Hamlet, I see the cloud."

"Do you think it looks like a whale?" Hamlet asked.

"Sure, why not?" Polonius replied.

"I disagree, I think it looks like a weasel," Hamlet said, shaking his head.

"But you're the one who said-" Polonius began.

"I never said it looked like your mother; cease this slander at once! Although it does bare a remarkable likeness to the fish you sell…" Hamlet trailed off, staring at the ceiling intently.

"Well, that answers my question; he's completely divorced from reality," Polonius muttered, storming off. He encountered Rosencrantz and Guildenstern on his way out of the hall. "He's all yours."

"Hello Lord Hamlet!" Rosencrantz said cheerfully.

"Greetings, my Lord," Guildenstern nodded respectfully.

"We were wondering why you're not the King since you're of age and your father used to be the King," Rosencrantz told him.

"Because my Uncle is _EVOL_!" Hamlet declared dramatically. "Now, who are you two?"

"We're Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," Guildenstern introduced.

"Which one is which?" Hamlet asked.

"Your mother decided that I was Guildenstern and he was Rosencrantz," Guildenstern replied.

"I…see…" Hamlet said, eying them strangely. "Do I know you?"

"We went to Wittenberg together," Rosencrantz explained.

Hamlet shook his head ruefully. "That's not ringing any bells…"

"We copied off you in Philosophy," Guildenstern admitted.

"And History," Rosencrantz added. "And math. And-"

"I think he gets the picture," Guildenstern interrupted.

"Oh, now I remember you!" Hamlet glared at them. "You really should learn to do your own work. Now why are you here?"

"We've been asking ourselves that same question for days," Rosencrantz said mournfully."I think we decided on 'because the King and Queen of Denmark sent us to spy on their son and see why he's crazy.'"

"I don't believe you," Hamlet said bluntly.

"You…don't?" Guildenstern asked, puzzled.

"Indeed I don't! I know that you're here because my mother and my uncle sent for you! They think I'm depressed!" Hamlet revealed triumphantly.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exchanged looks and decided not to point out that that was what they just said.

Instead, Rosencrantz said, "There is this really creepy group of actors coming this way. Do you think that might entertain you?"

Hamlet shrugged. "I suppose. It really depends on if I'm insane or not at the time."

"When would you be entertained: when you were insane or sane?" Guildenstern asked.

"Ah, there's the rub," Hamlet said mysteriously.

Before they could ask for clarification, Polonius reentered the Hall, followed by a group of men.

"The players are here, Prince Hamlet," he said curtly.

Hamlet brightened immediately. "Really? That's great. Do you know _The Murder of Gonzago_?"

"We know that play," one of the players confirmed.

Hamlet beamed. "Do you? That's just great. Here's an altered version of the script. It's nothing big, I just changed a few lines to try and get my uncle to confess to having murdered my father-"

"You really don't need to put this much effort into it," Polonius murmured.

"And you can perform it tomorrow. Now, adviser, go show them to the guestrooms. Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, go away. I wish to sulk in peace," Hamlet ordered.

"Sure thing," Rosencrantz said cheerfully as he and Guildenstern wondered outside.

"At least this time he remembered I was an advisor," Polonius attempted to console himself.

"You know, I really do need to kill Claudius," Hamlet murmured to himself. "But for some reason I haven't done it yet. Maybe if I wait around long enough, I'll find I've done it. If I'm lucky, seeing a play that's almost eerily similar to what happened with my parents and my uncle will be enough for me to be sure that my father was right about Claudius poisoning him. Normally, I wouldn't doubt his word, but he said he was asleep at the time, and I wouldn't want to kill anyone over a simple misunderstanding…"

Review Please!


	3. Act 3

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.

"Well, have you figured out why Hamlet's crazy yet?" Claudius asked as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern bowed before him.

"In the five minutes we spoke to him, we were not able to ascertain a reason for his madness," Guildenstern answered dryly.

"Just as well," Gertrude remarked. "If it were that easy, chances are we would have picked up on it by now."

"He did seem awfully excited to see the pervert players," Rosencrantz spoke up. "He said that he's going to change the script to try and induce you to confessing that you killed your brother and everything, My Lord."

"It's been _so_ long since he's been excited about anything," Gertrude said wistfully.

"Too true, my dear," Claudius agreed. "And he changed the play for me? It would be rude not to be there. Now everyone needs to go away so I can spy on my least-favorite nephew in peace."

After his wife and two stooges left, Polonius and Ophelia approached him.

"Ah, Lady Ophelia," Claudius greeted warmly. "I see you've found a new boyfriend? I'm glad you're not still brooding about Hamlet. I mean, I suppose he's a handsome enough fellow, but a bit too insane for my tastes…"

Ophelia coughed delicately. "Actually, sir, this is my father."

Claudius blinked. "I thought your father was dead."

"Why don't you go walk around the lobby, Ophelia. I think Hamlet's going to be making his rounds soon," Polonius suggested, annoyed again by his lack of memorability.

"Let's go hide behind this pillar," Claudius decides, pulling Polonius along.

"That pillar isn't nearly big enough to hide behind," Polonius protested.

"He's crazy; he won't notice," Claudius assured him.

"I hope you're right…" Polonius murmured.

After a good minute or so of waiting, Hamlet wandered in, talking to himself. "I wonder if I should commit suicide? It would hurt and I'd go to hell, but I wouldn't have to deal with my Uncle anymore. Unless HE went to hell, too, which is highly probably given that he killed my father…"

"Is there any particular reason you want to commit suicide, Hamlet?" Ophelia asked, wondering what one was supposed to say in this kind of situation.

"My Uncle is EVOL, I'm not King, two random people classmates of mine seem intent on stalking me, I can't find Horatio, Laertes got to go to France and not me, this one fishmonger keeps trying to bring me down, you broke up with me, my mother seems to have buried her backbone with my father…who is dead. Need I go on?" Hamlet asked.

"No, I think I've got it. But killing yourself seems kind of drastic. Remember, eternal damnation never, ever ends," Ophelia reminded.

"Are you calling me a coward because I don't want to face the unknown and so would rather stick this out?" Hamlet demanded angrily.

Ophelia stared at him. "No."

"Oh. I thought you were. So what do you want, anyway?" Hamlet asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Seeing as how we've broken up, I want to give you your things back," Ophelia explained, handing him a box full of his possessions.

"These aren't mine," Hamlet insisted, pulling out a pair of gloves and putting them out. "I was looking for these…"

"Are you sure?" Ophelia asked skeptically. "They have your monogram on them."

"Of course I'm sure," Hamlet snapped. "What do you take me for?"

"A crazy person?" Ophelia suggested.

"Liar!" Hamlet yelled.

"What am I lying about?" Ophelia was confused. "You asked my opinion and I gave it. Unless you think I have a different opinion that I'm hiding from you, which would make no sense as the opinion I gave wasn't exactly flattering."

"Your beauty is a lie," Hamlet crossed his arms irritably.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "What are you saying?" Ophelia asked icily.

"I love you," Hamlet told her.

"You can't stand here and insult me and then try and make it better by saying that you love me!" Ophelia fumed. "Especially seeing as how we're broken up!"

"We never dated," Hamlet corrected. "Seeing as how I don't love you."

"We could have dated without you loving me and you just that you did two seconds ago! Will you just make up your mind?" Ophelia demanded, frustrated.

"Can you _prove_ I told you I loved you?" Hamlet asked. Seeing Ophelia about to explode, he blithely continued, "I know, Ophelia. People are awful. You should really go join a nunnery so you don't have to deal with them."

"Is this some variation of the old 'If I can't have you, nobody will'?" Ophelia inquired. "Because if it is, it's really stupid, although I do appreciate the lack of you trying to murder me."

"You know, it's all your fault that I'm crazy," Hamlet said.

"I KNEW IT!" Polonius shouted.

"Shhhhhhh," Claudius chided him. "He may be crazy, but you never know what he's going to notice."

"How do you figure that?" Ophelia asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You're a girl," Hamlet explained. "And girls lie by wearing makeup and that makes men crazy. I hate you! I hate women! I hate humanity! I hate marriage! I'm going to go kill my Uncle now!" With that, he stormed off to go look for Claudius, passing right by the pillar his target was hiding behind.

"Wow. You know, he seemed reasonably sane just two days ago…" Ophelia mused. "Well, apart from the whole having conversations with a tree thing. Ah well, I suppose madness is just that quick sometimes."

"Well, Ophelia's father, I must concede that it looks like his behavior was partly caused by love for Ophelia," Claudius announced. "Although I can't help but feel there is something more to this. If I could _just_ put my finger on it…"

"Perhaps it's because he wants to kill you?" Polonius suggested.

Claudius laughed. "My dear fellow, whatever gave you that idea?"

"He just said he was going off to go kill you," Polonius pointed out.

"It's a figure of speech," Claudius said dismissively. "Maybe a change of scenery would do him good. I know! I'll send him to England!"

"Why not just let him go back to Wittenberg if you're not keeping him in Denmark?" Ophelia suggested.

"Why would I send him back to Whittaker?" Claudius asked. "I'm starting to suspect that they might have something to do with his mental instability. If I ever attack Prussia, I'm totally going to torch the place."

"Whatever you think is best, sir," Polonius said diplomatically. "After the play, I'm going to send Hamlet to the Queen's chambers to see if she can get anything out of him. I'll hide in the room to make sure that Hamlet doesn't try to hurt her in a fit of insanity."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Claudius said, pleased. "I hope he doesn't kill you in a fit of madness either."

- -

"Hamlet, have you ever acted a day in your life?" Horatio asked, watching Hamlet giving strict instructions to how he wanted the Players to act.

"Nope, why?" Hamlet asked cheerfully.

Horatio just shook his head. "No reason…"

"Well, I think that's all the help I can give you. Be gone," Hamlet said, waving the players away.

"You can follow us," Polonius said, walking by with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "We'll show you where you can get ready."

"Horatio!" Hamlet enthused once the two were alone. "Where have you been? I missed you."

"Oh, you know, I've been around. I had a drinking contest with Ophelia yesterday. That girl can really hold her liquor…" Horatio informed Hamlet, impressed.

"Ophelia's keeps obsessing about me, you know," Hamlet confided. "It's kind of creepy."

"If you say so, Hamlet," Horatio rolled his eyes.

"See? This is the kind of loyal service and integrity that makes me have such a high opinion of your intellect and behavior," Hamlet gushed.

"I'm glad you think so," Horatio said neutrally. "So what's the plan for tonight?"

"I intend to watch Uncle Claudius very closely during the play – especially during the scene I rewrote to copy what I know of my father's death – and I would appreciate it if you could do the same so we can compare notes afterwards and see if he looks guilty," Hamlet instructed.

"I'll be able to tell if he looks guilty alright," Horatio agreed. "Even though we all already know he is. Of course, it's entirely possible that he doesn't actually feel any guilt for his actions and as such won't be affected beyond maybe some paranoia that you've figured it out."

"You're a good man, Horatio," Hamlet said proudly. "Now come on, let's go wait for the play to start."

As Hamlet and Horatio found their seats, Hamlet warned, "I'm going to start acting crazy, so don't freak out."

"I never do…" Horatio murmured.

"How are you, my dear boy?" Claudius asked cordially.

Hamlet stared at Claudius for a long moment before replying. "Seven until I kill you. Then I'll be eel."

Claudius coughed. "Ah, well, excellent then."

Hamlet turned to Polonius. "Speaking of eels, I'm glad to see that you gave up your position as an actor to become a fishmonger once you became too old to cross-dress. And why in the world do you seem to be everywhere? We don't eat **that** much fish, do we?"

Before poor Polonius could respond, Hamlet moved on to Ophelia. "Can I sit in your lap?"

"No," Ophelia said automatically.

"Why not?" Hamlet asked.

"Because you're crazy, we're in public, and we're not dating anymore," Ophelia replied.

"We were never dating," Hamlet countered.

"Then it would be even less appropriate," Ophelia told him.

"Why didn't we ever have sex?" Hamlet asked.

"Because we were never married and I'm not one of those kinds of girls," Ophelia told him. "And if you don't stop bothering me I'm going to stab you."

"Fine, geez," Hamlet said, backing off. "I know you're obsessed with me, but you don't have to be so violent about it."

Ophelia studiously ignored him.

When the play started, two men came out as a King and Queen.

"I love you more than anything," the King told the Queen. "And I just want you to be happy so when I die, feel free to marry anyone you like, so long as they're not related to me."

"Don't be stupid!" the Queen bursts out. "I love you far too much to ever remarry! And if I ever did remarry I certainly wouldn't pick your far-less-attractive brother! And I certainly wouldn't wait less than a month before having such a despicable incestuous marriage!"

"That's oddly specific, but sweet," the King decides. "I think I'm going to take a nap. Goodbye, Dear."

As the King was sleeping, a man snuck up to the King and poured poison in his ear.

The Queen came up behind him. "My dear brother-in-law, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Definitely not murdering your husband," came the quick reply. "He is dead, though. Want to get married?"

"Is my first husband's body even cold?" the Queen asked.

"Not yet," the Murderer admitted.

"I really shouldn't…I mean, I did just promise my late husband that I wouldn't quickly remarry you five minutes ago…" the Queen pointed out.

"Oh come on, pleeeeeeease," the Murderer begged.

"Oh all right," the Queen agreed.

"That's not how it happened at all!" Gertrude protested. "And I most definitely waited until after we made the announcement of Hamlet's death before starting anything with Claudius!"

"Yeah, and this play is really awful. I say we all leave," Claudius said, standing up and following Gertrude out of the room.

The rest of the audience decided that if the monarchs weren't going to sit through Hamlet's revisions, they wouldn't either and quickly made their way to the exits as well.

"We're still getting paid for this, right?" one of the Players asked.

"Of course, sure," Hamlet said distractedly. "So what's the verdict? Did he seem guilty to you?"

"Not particularly during the play, but your mother did seem guilty and your uncle seems guilty every other time I see him," Horatio opined.

"Hey, Hamlet," Rosencrantz said as he and Guildenstern poked their heads into the doorway. "Your mom is looking for you."

"Then why didn't she just come back here? Or not leave in the first place?" Hamlet asked quizzically.

"Because she didn't like the play and didn't feel like it," Guildenstern answered. "She's in her room."

"Have you figured out why you're crazy yet?" Rosencrantz asked.

"Stop trying to trick me!" Hamlet shouted angrily.

"…We're just going to go…" Guildenstern said as he and Rosencrantz quickly took their leave.

"Hamlet!" Polonius greeted as he strolled into the room. "Your mother is concerned that your insanity might make you forget where her room is and asked me to escort you."

"I know where her room is!" Hamlet said, offended. "Now go away before I throw Horatio at you."

- -

"I can't believe my nephew wrote something like that!" Claudius complained. "It was so tacky! And that part of the show was supposed to be SILENT. That's it, it's too embarrassing to keep him here any longer. I'm sending him to England tomorrow. You two will go with him to make sure he doesn't get lost or head back to Willowfield, right?"

"Sure, why not?" Guildenstern asked.

"Just as long as we're not taking the same boat as the players…" Rosencrantz agreed.

Claudius laughed nervously. "Of course not…now you two should go get ready. If Hamlet annoys you too much on the trip, you can just give this letter to the King of England and they'll kill him for you."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Rosencrantz asked.

Claudius shrugged. "If you think so, then don't give it to him."

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern quickly departed and Polonius took their place.

"Just reminding you that I'm Polonius, your advisor, and I'm going to hide in your wife's bedroom to spy on her conversation with her son so if anything happens to me, I blame Hamlet," Polonius said.

"Right," Claudius nodded. After Polonius left, the King continued, "You know, my nephew may be eight bricks short of a full load, but the kid asks some valid questions: why DO we have a fishmonger at court? Ah well, guess I should try and pray, seeing as I'm in a chapel and whatnot."

Hamlet, on his way to his mother's room, spotted Claudius kneeling on the floor and took out his sword. "Patience, enjoy it, revenge can't be taken in haste-"

"I'm not quite sure what the point is to any of this seeing as how I'm not sure I believe in God and if He's real I'm totally going to hell because I killed my brother," Claudius said.

"No, he's praying, damnit," Hamlet cursed, staying his hand. "It wouldn't do for the murdering bastard to go to heaven after everything because I couldn't wait…"

- -

"Remember, my Queen, that as Hamlet's mother you stand a better chance than most in figuring out why he's up and lost it," Polonius said. "His behavior was strange and vaguely threatening and you should chastise him for it."

"I agree," Gertrude said. "But who are you and why are you hiding in my room? It's…bizarre."

"Be that as it may, I need to be able to objectively report this to your husband and thus I need to see it," Polonius said. "As for my identity…well, no one seems to be able to remember it, so why bother with it?"

"Is a tapestry really the best place to hide behind?" Gertrude asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Polonius asked, ducking behind it.

"I can see your feet sticking out," Gertrude said flatly.

"Let's hope Hamlet's crazy enough not to or so crazy that he thinks that kind of thing is normal," Polonius suggested.

Before Gertrude could argue the point, Hamlet stormed into her room. "What do you want, mother?" he asked, irritable that he had to suppress his murderous impulses earlier.

"Your play was very rude and has offended your father," Gertrude began.

"Oh, you can see him, too?" Hamlet asked hopefully.

Gertrude gave him a strange look. "Of course I can. Are you feeling alright?"

"Did he tell you that he was offended that you married his little, creepier, brother within a month of his death despite the fact you promised him you wouldn't?" Hamlet asked.

"I never promised him anything of the sort," Gertrude snapped. "Your father never mentioned anything of the sort."

"Maybe it's because he didn't think he had to," Hamlet shot back, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. "I mean, do you have any idea what a huge sin this is? Not only is it lacking in respect for the dead, but he's your brother-in-law! That's incest and you're going to hell!"

"HELP!" Gertrude cried.

"HELP, SOMEONE!" Polonius echoed, not thinking to try and help her himself.

"Hey look, a spy in my mother's bedroom! I bet it's a pervert! Or Claudius! Or both!" With that, Hamlet took out his sword and stabbed Polonius. "Ah," he sighed. "My murderous impulses are fulfilled at last…"

"Alas," Polonius said weakly as he slid down the wall and onto the floor. "I am slain."

" 'Alas I am slain'?" repeated Gertrude disgustedly. "What kind of dying words are those?"

"Lame ones," Hamlet agreed. "Why was that fishmonger hiding in your room, anyway?"

"You know what, I don't remember," Gertrude confessed. "But never mind that, where were we?"

"I was explaining why you were such a horrible person and are going straight to hell," Hamlet reminded her. He took out a picture of his father and his uncle that he was, for some reason, carrying around. "Do you see them?"

"Yes, Hamlet, I know what both of my husbands looked like," Gertrude assured him.

"Are you blind then? How could you possibly have been married to this wonderful god-like man and then throw it all away for this…God, I can't even think of a way to describe him," Hamlet said bitterly.

"Well, it's not like I had a choice about it," Gertrude pointed out. "Your father was dead so I couldn't have stayed with him. And there's nothing wrong with your Uncle."

"Except for the fact that he's EVOL, my uncle, and a killer," Hamlet muttered. "He's not worthy to be my father's brother…"

"Careful there, Hamlet, you sound a bit overly fond of your father," Gertrude cautioned.

"Whatever do you mean?" Hamlet asked innocently.

"Never mind," Gertrude sighed.

"I honestly can't believe you could be so stupid, so fickle, so weak, so _blind_ as to-" Hamlet began angrily, then stopped suddenly and turned pale.

"As to what?" Gertrude prompted after a few minutes had passed.

"I know you said to leave her alone, but she started it," Hamlet insisted, sullenly crossing his arms. "I tried to kill Claudius, but he was praying and then he was a fishmonger and-"

"Seriously, Hamlet, who are you talking to?" Gertrude asked.

"My father," Hamlet replies reverently.

"Claudius isn't here right now," Gertrude informed him.

"No him," Hamlet snapped. "I meant my real father."

"You…think you see your father?" Gertrude asked slowly.

"No, I **know** I see him," Hamlet shot back, gesturing towards the Queen's wooden dresser. "You would see him too if you weren't so unfaithful. Oh, now he's gone…" he said sadly.

"You really need help," Gertrude said solemnly. "I'll go get the King and then-"

"NO!" Hamlet yelled desperately. "I'm not mad, I swear to you I'm not. I'm just pretending to be crazy so I can kill your husband! Please don't tell anyone!"

"I won't," Gertrude vowed shakily.

"Thank you mother," Hamlet smiled at her. "Goodnight!"

"Wait," Gertrude stopped him, pointing to Polonius' corpse. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, right. This only happened because God hates me, you know," he said conversationally. "Remember, I'm going to England tomorrow so I'm not sure when I'll be back. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern keep acting so suspiciously and lying every other time they open their mouths that I may have to do something drastic to get back here safely. But anyway, sweet dreams!"

Gertrude could only stare as he left the room whistling merrily and dragging Polonius behind him.

Review Please!


	4. Act 4

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.

"Claudius!" Gertrude cried as she ran into the room her husband was occupying.

"Yes, my love?" Claudius asked, turning away from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

"Hamlet just killed Polonius," Gertrude said frantically. "Then he took the body and dragged it off!"

"That kindly old fishmonger?" Claudius asked, stunned. "Why, he never hurt a fly! I guess this just goes to show that Hamlet has completely lost it. Rosenstern, Guildencrantz, you two go and find Hamlet, will you? It's a good thing that trip to England is all set for tomorrow, this sounds like a public relations nightmare…"

"You can count on us, sir," Guildenstern promised he and Rosencrantz hurried off to look for Hamlet.

"Now, what happened?" Claudius asked solemnly.

"Hamlet's insane," Gertrude told him. "He started throwing around words like incest, murder, and eternal damnation and then he seemed to think that my dresser was his father…it was all very strange."

"How did the whole 'Polonius dying' thing come about?" Claudius pressed.

"Hamlet started shaking me so I called out for help, Polonius echoed my cries, and Hamlet decided that since it could have been you, he was going to kill him," Gertrude explained.

"Hamlet tried to _kill_ me?" Claudius was shocked and appalled.

"I'm fairly certain he said something to that effect earlier," Gertrude pointed out.

"Yeah, but I didn't actually think that he meant it! Oh well, with any luck the court will have forgotten this by the time Hamlet makes it back from England. After all, Polonius was a loyal fellow, but I doubt people will get too worked up over a fishmonger," Claudius said optimistically.

"And, of course, I was in danger, too," Gertrude reminded him.

"What? Oh, right, you were. That must have been awful. So…how in the world am I supposed to explain this to the court?" Claudius wondered aloud.

- -

Hamlet smiled to himself as he shoved Polonius' corpse in a closet under the stairs. "No one will ever think to look for him here!"

Just then, his two cheating classmates stumbled upon him.

"Hey Hamlet, have you seen Polonius?" Rosencrantz got straight to the point.

"Not since I killed him and disposed of the body, no," Hamlet answered honestly.

"Where is the body?" Guildenstern asked.

Hamlet blinked. "What body?"

"POLONIUS' body," Guildenstern told him.

"Who?" Hamlet looked blank.

"That fishmonger you killed fifteen minutes ago," Rosencrantz said helpfully.

"Oh, him," Hamlet said dismissively. "What about him?"

"Where is he?" Guildenstern asked, gritting his teeth.

"In his makeshift grave, of course," Hamlet said, looking as if he thought that were a very silly question.

Guildenstern took a deep breath. "Which. Is. Where?"

"STOP SPYING ON ME!" Hamlet suddenly shouted. "You're a sponge!"

"That's not very nice, Prince Hamlet," Rosencrantz chided. "But since you're clearly crazy and we don't want to die, I suppose we'll have to make allowances. Why don't we take you to see the King now?"

Hamlet shrugged. "Meh. Whatever."

- -

"So, basically Polonius is dead and my nephew – who had absolutely nothing to do with Polonius walking into that sword – is going to England for a nice vacation. Any question- Oh, I better take care of this. You may all go," Claudius dismissed his group of attendants as he spotted Rosencrantz and Guildenstern dragging along Hamlet, who was complaining loudly.

"This is an outrage!" Hamlet was saying. "I just wanted to go fishing at 3 AM, is that such a crime?"

"I have no idea," Rosencrantz replied. "But that's not why you're here, remember?"

"It isn't?" Hamlet was confused. "But I could have sworn it had something to do with a fish…"

"Polonius! You killed Polonius!" Guildenstern shouted.

"Did I?" Hamlet cocked his head. "Oh, that's right."

"Would you mind telling us where you stashed the body?" Claudius asked.

Hamlet nodded. "Yes I would mind a great deal."

"Too bad," Claudius told him. "Tell me anyway."

"Oh fine…" Hamlet sighed, looking very put out. "Polonius is being eaten by worms in heaven and hell simultaneously, a portal to which can be found under the stairs."

"I see, I'll have to send someone to look into that…" Claudius mused. "So, Hamlet, how would you like a vacation?"

"I would love a vacation!" Hamlet said brightly. "Is it to Wittenberg?"

"Nope, England," Claudius corrected.

"England?" Hamlet made a face. "What's in England?"

"…Rain?" Claudius offered. "Tea? Witch hunts?"

"Well, I've always wanted to see a witch hung…" Hamlet conceded. "When do we leave?"

"Fine minutes ago," Claudius said.

"Wait…how does that even work? Do you have a time machine? Are you a Time Lord?" Hamlet asked eagerly.

"Um…sure. Now, hurry up and board the ship, will you?" Claudius entreated.

"Sure thing, King Incestuous Murderous Bastard," Hamlet agreed as he was lead off.

"You know, I'm really starting to worry about him…" Claudius said quietly. "Ah well, at least one of my nephews still likes me…"

- -

Prince Fortinbras of Norway stood dramatically on a plain. "Damn, this is a great pose. And the scenery! Wish I'd brought an artist…"

"Sir," his captain interrupted his musings. "Since we can actually see the Danish castle from here, don't you think we should go get permission to be here?"

Fortinbras blinked. "You mean we didn't already? Hurry up, will you? I mean, this kind of incident is enough to start a war and all, but I wanted to get Poland and THEN attack Denmark on the way home. Doing it the other way would just completely mess up my timeline."

"Timeline, sir?" the captain asked.

"Yes," Fortinbras nodded. "According to my calculations, if we hurry in Poland then we should get back here just in time for Denmark to be easy pickings as everyone even remotely important would have just killed each other off."

"If you say so, sir," the captain replied dubiously. Honestly, what were the odds of that happening? He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't see Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Hamlet until he had nearly walked into them.

"Hello, good sir!" Hamlet greeted. "Where are you off to this fine, bloody morning?"

The captain stared. That was a strange greeting. On the other hand, they were clearly Danish so… "We're off to go seek permission from King Claudius to travel through his lands."

"But aren't your armies already here?" Guildenstern asked, surprised.

"We sort of forgot…" the captain admitted. "Seeing as how we **set off** to conquer Denmark."

"What are you guys fighting for?" Hamlet asked, curious. "Honor, love, money, boredom?"

"Mostly that last one," the captain replied. "And also because we're biding our time so we can swing back and attack this castle on our return trip. Prince Fortinbras reckons it ought to be great fun and _very_ dramatic."

"Well good luck with that," Rosencrantz said cheerfully.

"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me…" the captain said, making his way once more towards the castle.

"**Fortinbras **is sending legions of men to die because he's bored," Hamlet sulked. "And I've got heavenly retribution on my side and all I've managed to do is kill an old fishmonger! _God_, my life sucks. That does it! When I get back, I'm totally going to kill him, no more procrastination."

"It's nice to see you're working on ridding yourself of such an inconvenient character flaw," Rosencrantz remarked.

Guildenstern closed his eyes. "Why? Just…why? You know what, let's just get on the boat."

"Death to Claudius!" Hamlet shouted, laughing maniacally.

Rosencrantz smiled. "It's nice to see him so excited about something."

- -

"Why do you keep insisting I should see Ophelia? I don't really want to. Dealing with the bereaved is just so…depressing," Gertrude said irritably.

"I understand that," Horatio said patiently. "On the other hand, her father _just died_ because Hamlet's a lunatic and you were terrified of your own son."

"To be fair, my son is a lunatic," Gertrude pointed out.

"But after it happened you continued arguing with him!" Horatio burst out.

"It's okay, Horatio, these are very selfish, shallow people who can't even remember who my father was after decades of loyal service. I've made my peace with that and once you do, you'll be happier," Ophelia said softly, entering the room.

"But Ophelia-" Horatio began.

"Besides, the girl has clearly gone mad," Gertrude said."I mean, she's dressed in black and is carrying flowers and everything!"

"People tend to dress in black when they're mourning, your majesty," Horatio pointed out.

"All I know is the last person to dress in black after a death was my son, and God knows he's mad as a dozen hatters," Gertrude insisted.

"Ah, so poor Ophelia's lost it, has she?" Claudius asked, having followed said girl in. "It's probably because of that old fishmonger's death. I hear she was very fond of him."

"He wasn't a fishmonger," Ophelia hissed, eyes flashing. "He was advisor to the King since long before I was born and he was my father! How can you be so stupid as to still not get that even after his death?"

"It's always the pretty ones," Claudius remarked sadly. "The court is getting suspicious that we haven't been entirely truthful about what happened to poor what's-his-name."

"POLONIUS!" Ophelia shouted.

"Very good, dear," Gertrude patted her arm absent-mindedly. "I told you that 'he sleep-stabbed himself' wasn't convincing enough. We should have had him declared a traitor."

"What is wrong with you people?" Ophelia demanded. "And why is everyone acting like I'm insane?"

"It's because you've stopped playing the game," Horatio told her. "They simply cannot handle that and so in their mind you're simply spouting nonsense. Observe. My Queen, what in the world is Ophelia going on about? I do not understand a word."

Gertrude looked piteously at Ophelia. "She's singing about how she slept with someone with the understanding that they'd get married and he turned around and refused to do it because she wasn't a virgin."

"I AM NOT!" Ophelia cried.

"Oh dear, whatever shall Laertes say about this second case of madness? He always was fond of the poor girl, I think. He may have even loved her…" Claudius trailed off wistfully.

"He's my brother! Don't be disgusting!" Ophelia's protests, of course, went unheard by everyone but Horatio.

"Laertes? Has he returned from France?" Horatio inquired.

"LONG LIVE KING LAERTES!"

"I guess that's a yes," Horatio said to himself.

"Is that an angry mob?" Gertrude asked, concerned.

"Is it that time of year already?" Claudius inquired, inspecting his nails. "Talk about bad timing."

"You killed my father," Laertes snarled, storming into the throne room.

"Laertes, my boy, I thought you were past this," Claudius said, sounding disappointed.

"I think he means Polonius," Gertrude corrected him.

"Oh. Well then no, I didn't," Claudius assured the boy.

"So he's not dead?" Laertes asked hopefully.

Claudius shook his head. "I didn't say THAT. Your brother killed him."

"Then why didn't you just say so? Hamlet's insane; people will understand," Laertes pointed out.

"Well, we would've, but he was all set to go on a vacation to England and we thought that it might appear that we were rewarding wanton murder if they knew, so we kept it a secret," Claudius explained.

"And now you have a borderline revolution on your hands," Laertes said.

Gertrude shrugged. "That always happens around tax day."

"It's quite possible that it happens every year because you guys are really, really bad at this and totally out of touch with the common man," Ophelia offered.

"You're not supposed to tell them that, Ophelia," Laertes said rolling his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

"The King and Queen seem to think she's insane," Horatio offered helpfully.

Ophelia shot him a dirty look.

"Dear God, Ophelia!" Laertes cried alarmed. "What happened to her?"

"Nothing," Ophelia answered, annoyed. "I'm right here and reasonably sane."

"We think her mind cracked after Hamlet killed Polonius," Claudius explained. "She was such a great girl, too…you know, I think I'd like to see some justice for her."

"**I** don't need justice. **I'm** fine. Get some justice for my poor, dead father!" Ophelia told them.

"Alright," Laertes nodded, glancing at her again. "Tell me what happened so I may avenge my father and my sister."

"You know what, that's it. I'm leaving. If you need me, I'll be in Poland seeing how Fortinbras is doing," Ophelia declared, storming off.

- -

"I hope Ophelia finds the Norwegians okay," Horatio murmured to himself.

"Excuse me, do you know where I can find Horatio?" a courier asked.

Horatio looked startled. "What? Oh, that's me. Why?"

"We have a letter from Prince Hamlet," the courier said, giving him the letter.

"Let me see that," Hamlet took the letter. "Dear Horatio, the boat ride was excellent and I was SO looking forward to going to England. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern kept waxing existential and hiding from the Players, though, which was very annoying. Fortunately for me, there was a pirate attack! I switched the letter they had saying if I was annoying then to give to the English monarch with a letter saying if THEY were being annoying then they would die. Here's to hoping they weren't being annoying! Anyway, I boarded the pirate ship and convinced them to head back to Denmark. They said something about me being too crazy for them to deal with. Ah, well. Please escort these sailors to the King. If you need me, I'll be in the graveyard playing with skulls. Sincerely, Hamlet."

"So you'll take us to see the King?" the courier asked.

Horatio was still staring at the letter. "Wow. I don't even…wow…What? Oh sure, follow me."

- -

"So explain to me again why you buried my father secretly, didn't punish Hamlet for killing him, and are basically pretending that nothing happened?" Laertes sounded calmer, but not by much.

"Because chances are everyone but you and his daughter have forgotten about him by now and the common people and my wife love Hamlet. God knows why as he's extremely unbalanced, but perhaps his insane antics amuse them," Claudius shrugged.

"I can't just pretend nothing happens, I need vengeance. And I have a whole rebellion behind me that wants me to be King," Laertes reminded him.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Claudius assured him. "After all, I won't live forever and God knows Hamlet isn't fit to take the throne. Besides, I'm sure we can arrange for a very nice revenge accident should he miraculously return from England alive."

"Did you say something about miraculously returning to England alive?" the courier asked, sticking his head into the room.

"Why, yes, yes I did," Claudius confirmed, surprised.

"That's strange because I have a message for you saying that Hamlet intends to do the exact same thing tomorrow," the courier said. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

When the courier had gone, Laertes exclaimed. "Sweet! Vengeance will be mine!"

"I suppose I'd rather you killed your brother in pursuit of vengeance for Polonius than me as vengeance for your father so…why not? Besides, the court is starting to question Hamlet's sanity anyway. Still, we don't want any messy scandals, so how about this: Hamlet's been jealous of your fencing skills for years so how about we arrange a duel," Claudius suggested.

"You want me to make it look like a fencing accident?" Laertes repeated. "How? Have you ever tried to kill somebody with a foil? You have to put some real effort into it."

"Not if the blade is tipped with poison," Claudius countered.

"So…it would look like he just randomly dropped dead in the middle of the match and you don't think anyone would suspect foul play?" Laertes asked skeptically.

"No, definitely not," Claudius assured him. "People are rather unobservant. And should Hamlet win the match, I'll offer him a glass of poisoned wine so he's sure to die either way."

"But what if I win? How would I avoid drinking out of the glass without it looking suspicious?" Laertes wanted to know.

Claudius looked thoughtful. "Good point…I could always spill it, I guess…Or have a backup glass…"

"Claudius!" Gertrude screamed as she ran into the room. "It's awful!"

"What? What's going on?" Claudius asked, alarmed.

"I can't find Ophelia anywhere! She must have drowned herself in her mad grief!" Gertrude declared dramatically.

"I thought she said she was going to Norway," Claudius said, puzzled.

"That's obvious lunatic for 'I'm off to go drown myself. Goodbye cruel world!'" Gertrude explained.

"Ah. Well that sucks. She was REALLY pretty," Claudius said mournfully.

"First my father, now Ophelia…Hamlet, you're going down," Laertes growled as he ran from the room.

"And now he's pissed again. Honestly, it'll take forever to calm him down…" Claudius complained.

Review Please!


	5. Act 5

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.

In the royal cemetery, two gravediggers were very busy digging a grave.

"Why are we doing this again?" the younger of the two asked between digs.

"Because it's our job," replied the other. "Now stop complaining and keep digging."

"But there's no body; she doesn't need a grave," the first pointed out.

"Just because her body is missing does not mean that she doesn't need a proper Christian burial," the second insisted.

"I get that she needs a service and a headstone but we're basically just digging a hole so people can stand around at her funeral pretending there's a body and then burying an empty coffin," the first sulked.

"What's your point?" asked the second.

"Why can't they just pretend that there's a hole here and save us the work?" the first demanded.

"Because they don't have that much imagination," replied the second.

"Don't have that much imagination?" the first repeated incredulously. "The poor girl's father died so they concluded she went mad and then when she left the country and they couldn't find her they decided she was dead! How is that in any way lacking in imagination?"

The second gravedigger shrugged as he climbed out of the half-finished grave. "Do you want to get paid or don't you?"

"I suppose," the first confirmed reluctantly. "Hey, where are you going? We're not done yet!"

"I'm on break. I'll be back in an hour or so," the second told him. "Guard the graveyard, will you? I hear Prince Hamlet's back."

"Will do," the first confirmed, scanning the graveyard for the notorious grave robber.

Unaware that he was being watched, Hamlet merrily strolled into the churchyard, Horatio at his side. "Hey, look! Skulls!" Hamlet exclaimed, bending down to pick one up. "I bet it was a lawyer. It looks annoying."

"The…_skull_ looks annoying?" Horatio repeated. "How could it possibly be annoying you? It's just lying there."

"Exactly," Hamlet agreed. "It's a terrible conversationalist. That's how I can tell it's a lawyer; they're not fun to talk with because they nitpick every little thing you say."

"Only when they're arguing a case," Horatio disagreed.

Hamlet peered suspiciously at Horatio. "Are YOU a lawyer?"

"What?" Horatio asked, taken aback."No, of course not."

"Then stop nitpicking every little thing I say."

"I do not-" Horatio began.

"There, you're doing it again," Hamlet complained, crossing his arms. "Hey, you," he called to the remaining gravedigger.

"Yes, Prince Hamlet?" the gravedigger answered.

"I am a travelling…sailor," Hamlet introduced himself.

"Of course you are, Prince Hamlet," agreed the gravedigger. "How may I help you? Do you need a grave dug?"

Hamlet considered. "Maybe later. Right now I'm just curious: whose grave is that?"

"Mine," came the immediate response.

"You're digging your own grave?" Horatio asked, surprised. "Are you planning on killing yourself soon or something? Because that's really thoughtful not to make anyone else have to. Although if it was suicide no one would, I guess…"

"It's possible he's a criminal being forced to dig his own grave before his execution," Hamlet suggested. "But then why wouldn't he have someone supervising him to make sure he didn't escape?"

"No, no," the gravedigger shook his head. "You have it all wrong. It's my grave because I'm digging it."

"Oh," Hamlet stopped for a second. "Then who is going to be in the grave?"

"No one," the gravedigger replied.

"So…no one will be in the grave because all men and women are living things and the occupant of the grave will be dead?" Horatio worked out, looking pleased with himself.

The gravedigger shot him a look. "You over think things. No one's going to be in the grave because the grave belongs to someone who didn't die, she just left the country."

"I can't believe I'm actually going to say this, but…" Hamlet took a deep breath. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Tell that to the King and Queen," the gravedigger told them, shrugging a little. "I don't understand it either, but apparently there was this fishmonger who died and he was the advisor to the King's father so she went mad and killed herself."

"I thought you said she left the country," Horatio pointed out. "And if she killed herself, why isn't there a body? And why is she getting a burial?"

"She did leave the country, but the King and Queen don't believe that and so decided she was dead when they couldn't find her," the gravedigger explained. "Which is why there isn't a body and she's getting a funeral because she's a lady of the court, the King thought she was pretty, and the Queen wanted her to be her daughter-in-law."

"Wait, wait…OPEHLIA'S dead?" Hamlet asked.

"No, she left the country, remember?" Horatio corrected.

"Don't be silly, Horatio. She has a grave, thus she is dead," Hamlet decided. "I'll have to make a note to dramatically and irreverently crash the funeral."

"Why can't you just attend like a normal person?" Horatio moaned. "Wait, stupid question…"

"So tell me your life story," Hamlet suddenly commanded.

"Okay…" the gravedigger said slowly. "I've been a gravedigger since King Hamlet defeated King Fortinbras in battle, thirty years ago. Coincidentally enough, that was the day Prince Hamlet the Insane was born. I bet Queen Gertrude was pissed he missed their son's birth to go play war."

"Thirty years?" Hamlet repeated, confused.. "But I'm only nineteen."

"That's nice, but we're not talking about you, we're talking about Prince Hamlet the Insane," the gravedigger said disinterestedly.

"You realize you called him Prince Hamlet twice earlier, right?" Horatio asked.

"I do indeed. Why?" the gravedigger inquired.

"Just checking."

"Why do you keep calling me 'Prince Hamlet the Insane'?" Hamlet wanted to know.

"Because he's insane, obviously," the gravedigger replied.

"Ah, that makes sense," Hamlet nodded. "Hey…this skull looks strangely familiar. It's not…it is! Yorick!"

"Who?" Horatio asked, puzzled.

"That was the jester for Old King Hamlet," the gravedigger explained. "He's been dead for twenty years now."

"Twelve," Hamlet corrected automatically. "Alas! Poor Yorick. I knew him."

"I should say so if he was your father's jester. Still, isn't twelve years a little long to be in mourning?" Horatio asked tactfully.

"It's never too long to obsess about dead people!" Hamlet declared.

"I'm not surprised you think that," Horatio muttered.

"I've just realized that everyone dies, decomposes, and turns into dust and that depresses me. I bet people have built walls out of Julius Caesar and clean Alexander the Great off of furniture!" Hamlet cried.

"There, there," Horatio said soothingly, patting him on the back.

This tender moment was soon interrupted by the arrival of Claudius, Gertrude, Laertes, and everyone else at court as well as anyone who was in the area and had nothing better to do.

"Hey, what are they all doing here?" Hamlet blinked innocently. "Did somebody die or something?"

Horatio closed his eyes, attempting to resist the urge to strangle his absentminded friend.

"Do you know, I haven't been in a graveyard since I killed my brother," Claudius said dreamily.

"Oh, right, you just sent flowers to his funeral," Gertrude nodded.

"I wonder if I can start pointing out the obvious, get myself declared insane, and leave like Ophelia did…" Horatio mused.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" the priest asked Claudius. "I mean, this is all very irregular, considering she-"

"Killed herself?" Claudius interrupted, laughing nervously. "Don't be silly; anyone could have accidentally drowned in six inches of water."

"I was going to say 'isn't dead', but I suppose that would also be a good reason not to have a funeral for her," the priest agreed. "Giving her a proper Christian burial would profane the dead."

"You heartless bastard!" Laertes shouted, jumping into the empty grave. "That's my sister you're talking about."

"What?" Hamlet cried, shocked. "Ophelia's dead? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"The gravedigger did," Horatio pointed out. "He also said she wasn't really-"

"Oh, right," Hamlet interrupted sheepishly. "I'm coming, Ophelia my love!"

"Huh?" Claudius turned towards the source of the intrusion. "Oh, right, you were coming back today, weren't you? Your brother's here, too. Still, a funeral's not exactly the best place to have a family reunion…"

"Laertes is not my brother and I'm here for Ophelia," Hamlet corrected as he also jumped into Ophelia's now not-quite-empty grave.

"We already talked about this, Hamlet," Claudius said sternly. "It's not nice to disown your relatives and Ophelia's dead so make sure I don't get any zombie stepgrandbabies."

"I loved her more than you did!" Hamlet insisted, punching Laertes.

"What? You dumped her, killed our father, and kept sexually harassing her," Laertes pointed out angrily.

"Actually, she dumped me," Hamlet defended himself.

"The other two are true, though!" Laertes yelled.

"You abandoned her!" Hamlet accused.

"I offered to let her come with me! Besides, she still had our father when I left. You left after you took everything from her!" Laertes shot back. "This is all your fault!"

"I love Ophelia so much I would eat a crocodile for her!" Hamlet announced.

That gave Laertes pause. "…What does that have to do with anything?"

Hamlet shrugged. "I don't know, but I just thought I'd point that out."

"Well, okay then."

"I would also be buried alive for her," Hamlet continued nobly.

Unexpectedly, Laertes brightened. "You would? That's great news. I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Now let me just go find the gravedigger."

"Oh, would someone break them up?" Gertrude asked, annoyed. "They are SO ruining the mood."

"I agree," Claudius agreed. "Besides, I already have plans for my crazy nephew's death and they do not involve being buried in his ex-girlfriend's stead."

"Fine, spoil my heroic fight scene," Hamlet pouted, stomping off.

"We'll reschedule," Laertes called after him.

"I am _so_ sorry," Horatio apologized to the shocked funeral attendees before following him.

- -

"You'll never guess what happened to me!" Hamlet exclaimed.

"Did somebody try to kill you?" Horatio guessed.

"No, somebody tried to…how did you know?"Hamlet asked suspiciously. "Is this some sort of conspiracy?"

"No, it's just that people often feel the need to kill you and it only stands to reason that a few of them would act on this desire," Horatio explained. "So tell me about it."

"I was really bored one day so I decided to steal Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's mail. My uncle had a letter to the English monarch saying that if I was being annoying during my stay there, feel free to have me killed! Can you believe that? My own uncle!" Hamlet wailed.

"Considering he had your father killed, yes, yes, I can," Horatio nodded.

"Naturally, I switched the letter for one saying that if they annoyed anyone, they were to be killed," Hamlet beamed.

Horatio looked horrified. "But…but they can't even tell themselves apart! They'll never make it!"

Hamlet was unrepentant. "It's their own damn fault for not wearing nametags. Still, I probably shouldn't have kicked Laertes' ass at his own sister's funeral. After all, we share a common desire to kill Claudius to avenge our father's death."

"But…Claudius didn't kill Laertes' father, you did," Horatio pointed out. "Or are you convinced that you two are siblings, now?"

"I will never believe it," Hamlet snapped. "And it's really not my fault Polonius is dead."

"It isn't?" Horatio repeated. "But…you stabbed him."

"Yes," Hamlet nodded. "But that's only because I was looking for revenge against my Uncle, so therefore it's all his fault, really."

"If you say so…" Horatio said doubtfully.

"I'll apologize and it'll be fine, you'll see," Hamlet said optimistically.

"Would YOU be fine if Claudius apologized for killing your father?" Horatio asked.

"Nope," Hamlet said cheerfully. "But I don't see why Laertes wouldn't be."

"Hello, Prince Hamlet!" a courtier gushed, entering the room.

"Oh, hello Osric," Hamlet greeted with a long-suffering sigh. "He's a fanboy," he whispered to Horatio. "Observe: Osric, are you cold?"

"Freezing," Osric agreed.

"Really? Because I was thinking of opening up a window because of this dreadful heat."

"Would you? I didn't want to say anything, but I feel like I'm going to pass out from this massive heat wave," Osric contradicted.

"Do you need anything?" Horatio quickly cut in, seeing that Hamlet would likely continue to play with the poor pompous yes-man for hours.

"Ah, yes. Laertes wants to duel you. He's so dreamy!" Osric sighed happily. "He signed my chest and everything! And he and Claudius have a bet riding on it, so if you could hurry and come down, that would be great."

"What if I don't want do duel?" Hamlet asked. "After all, I just got back and my Uncle wants me dead."

"Can you sign my forehead?" Osric asked.

"Fine…" Hamlet quickly scrawled his name on the courtier's head. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Horatio asked immediately after they were alone. "I mean, you yourself said that Claudius is out to kill you and he said as much at the funeral when he was explaining why he didn't like Laertes' 'bury Hamlet alive' plan."

"You worry too much," Hamlet said dismissively. "The worst that could happen is that I'll die and my life sucks anyway, so why not?"

"If you're going into this with the full intention of dying without having any noble reason like saving someone else, wouldn't that be akin to suicide?" Horatio asked.

"…No…" Hamlet disagreed. "Besides, like I was saying earlier: everyone dies. There's nothing you can do about it so I might as well die within the hour."

"When you die, I've GOT to find saner friends…" Horatio muttered as he and the Prince made their way down to the hall.

Hamlet immediately sought out his rival. "Hey, Laertes, sorry about your dad. It wasn't my fault; I was crazy! Please forgive me. I love you!"

"I'm not quite sure what the etiquette is about forgiving people for murdering their family members and there's still the matter of Ophelia so…let me get back to you on that. I will accept your love, though," Laertes said decisively.

"Wait…love?" Gertrude repeated."I'm never going to get any grandchildren, am I? On the bright side, I won't ever have to feel old…"

"Isn't that, like, incest or something?" Claudius wondered aloud. "I think that's a sin."

"Oh, so NOW you care about incestuous unions," Hamlet muttered. "And that's not what we meant, anyway."

"Ah, so it's brotherly love, then? Good to see this family is starting to come together so nicely, it's a pity it's right before your brother and I murder you," Claudius said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Okay, now if Hamlet wins the first or second hit, I will drink to his health and then put a valuable jewel coated with poison in the cup for Hamlet to drink. Any questions? No? Good."

Hamlet quickly struck Laertes, but shook his head when Claudius offered him the cup. "No thanks. I have a very low alcohol tolerance and it wouldn't do to get drunk in the middle of a match."

As Hamlet struck Laertes again, Claudius remarked. "You know, Laertes actually kind of sucks at this. Good thing my money's on Hamlet."

"Yes, way to have faith in your nephew," Gertrude nodded. "Hey, Hamlet, I'm thirsty, do you mind if I drink from your cup in your place?"

"Nah, go ahead," Hamlet replied, blocking a low strike from Laertes.

"Don't drink that; it's poison," Claudius told her urgently.

"You can't tell me what to do! I can't hear you because I'm too thirsty!" With that, Gertrude chugged half the cup.

"Quick!" Claudius shouted. "Somebody go get some coffee and put salt in it!"

A few moments later, Osric arrived with said drink.

"Drink this, my dear," Claudius handed the cup to his wife.

"What is it?" Gertrude asked as the world started to spin.

"It will make you throw up," Claudius replied.

"But…I can't do that! How unsightly would it be for the Queen to throw up in front of the entire court?" Gertrude demanded.

"But you'll die!" Claudius begged her.

"You should have thought of that before letting me drink poison," Gertrude said stubbornly.

"I did! You just didn't listen," Claudius pointed out.

"Way to take responsibility for your own actions," Gertrude said sarcastically.

"Look, if you went to the bathroom, could you drink this and throw the poison up? No one would have to see," Claudius suggested.

"And miss the match?" Gertrude asked, shocked. "That would be most improper."

"So is dying in front of the court," Claudius replied. "And we could call for a break…"

"No, my mind is made up. I'll drink it after the match, should I survive it," Gertrude decided.

"But you won't live that long!" Claudius cried.

"You really should have gone with a slower-acting poison, then," Gertrude told him. "Serves you right for trying to kill my son."

"But…I won't be dying, you will," Claudius said.

Gertrude ignored him to focus on the match.

"Killing Hamlet like this is almost against my conscience…" Laertes murmured. "On the other hand, he's crazy as a loon, a danger to himself and those around him, and still won't take responsibility for my father and sister's death. DIE!" he shouted, stabbing Hamlet and drawing blood. Finally succeeding, he dropped his sword in surprise and Hamlet did the same.

"Ow! That hurt!" Hamlet cried, picking up Laertes' poisoned foil and chasing the rather terrified Laertes around the room for a while until he finally managed to stab him back. "God, you got that worked up over a little bloodshed? That's a little pathetic, don't you think?"

"You idiot! You just killed me!" Laertes complained.

"What, do you have hemophilia or something?" Hamlet asked, confused.

"No! It was a poisoned blade," Laertes responded.

"Oh. Well, I guess I'm dead, too. Sweet! Dying serves you right, though, for killing me," Hamlet said sternly.

"What do you care? You want to die!" Laertes pointed out.

"Hey, what's wrong with my mom?" Hamlet looked over to see Gertrude fall out of her seat.

"I'm dying, too," Gertrude informed them. "Since your father didn't warn me not to drink his poisoned cup."

"But I did! Twice!" Claudius protested his innocence.

"Wait, so Laertes, Hamlet, AND Gertrude are all dying?" Horatio repeated. At their nods, he continued, "Is there anyone here who's **not** dying?"

Claudius raised his hand.

"I can fix that," Hamlet snarled, running up to Claudius and stabbed him with the poisoned foil.

"Damn, dying makes you thirsty," Claudius noted. "Can you pass me that?"

"This?" Hamlet picked up the poisoned wine. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Claudius took a long swill of it. "You know, you're not so bad."

"Neither are you," Hamlet replied, touched. "It's a shame we're only figuring this out now that we've killed each other."

"Crap! We're going to die!" Laertes realized suddenly. "And we didn't even get any death rites! We're all going to hell! Uh, Hamlet, I forgive you for killing my father and causing my sister to die."

"And I forgive you for killing me, even though I'm not really all that upset," Hamlet said magnanimously. "Hey, is that marching I hear? Do you think Fortinbras is back?"

"I suppose," Horatio said, kneeling next to his fallen friend. "Do you have any last wishes?"

"Yeah, since I'm the last of the royal line and I'm dying, I want you to be King of Norway so you better not kill yourself!" Hamlet said sternly.

"I don't need a palace to convince me to live," Horatio replied. "I mean, it's sad that everyone's dead but it's mostly their own damn fault, so…"

"A plague on both your houses!" Hamlet declared dramatically. "Now that's a death line. Eat your heart out, Polonius…"

"Did I just hear that you're going to be King of Denmark?" Fortinbras asked, entering the hall.

"I…guess…" Horatio replied. "Can he even do that?"

"Well, there really isn't anyone else, so why not?" Fortinbras shrugged.

"As you're the new King, I have a message for you from England: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead," the English ambassador declared.

"That annoying, huh?" Horatio asked.

The ambassador winced. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"I don't really know anything about running a Kingdom, though…" Horatio mused. "I suppose I couldn't possibly do worse than Claudius, though…"

"That's the spirit," Ophelia said approvingly as she came into the room. "And don't worry, I'll help you. I've had _years_ of being treated like the advisor to the King."

"Ophelia! You're alright! You found Fortinbras alright then?" Horatio asked.

Ophelia nodded. "Oh yes. They were very sympathetic to my plight and let me stay with them until Fortinbras' timeline said everyone would be dead. It's a shame about my brother, but…"

"I know," Horatio agreed.

"I want to hear everything that happened after I left," Ophelia told him.

"As do I," Fortinbras piped up. "The comings and goings of madmen never ceases to amuse me."

"Alright," Horatio nodded. "I really should start at the beginning, though. It all started with the drunken watchmen…"

Review please!

Note: Wow, this was fun to write. Hope nobody minds I changed the ending, but it would set a bad example if one of the Only Sane Man's went insane and drowned and Hamlet randomly handing over the Kingdom to some other country when Fortinbras was two minutes away from getting his own kingdom always seemed kind of strange.


End file.
